


The End of a Long Night

by DizzyDrea



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Burke finally caught up with Neal in Prague.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of a Long Night

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is obviously a coda to _Judgement Day_. I wrote it before I'd even seen the episode, but held on to it after I'd watched it for some reason. Since the premier is coming, and I don't want this haunting me from my hard drive, I've decided to post it now. It's how I'd hope the season premier goes, though I doubt it'll be this easy.
> 
> Post-ep for _Judgement Day_.
> 
> Disclaimer: White Collar is the property of Jeff Eastin, Fox Television Studios, USA Networks, and a lot of other people who aren't me. I do this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

Sydney.

Tokyo.

Bali.

Bangkok.

Not New Delhi, thank God.

Moscow, and hadn't that been an interesting place.

Peter Burke finally caught up with Neal in Prague. Walking along the Charles Bridge, of all the odd places. He figured Neal either got bored easily, or wasn't entirely convinced that his new identity was that secure. Or, he was seeing the world because he hadn't been able to for so long.

He was standing there, leaning against the railing, watching the boats go by on the Vltava River below. Peter sidled up beside him, but it seemed as though Neal hadn't even noticed his presence. 

He took a moment to just look. It had only been eight months, but Neal looked older, somehow. There were lines on his face that hadn't been there before. He had a neatly trimmed beard that did little to disguise those bright blue eyes and that handsome face that Peter loved so well.

He was still impeccably dressed, if a bit more casually in deference to his need to blend in; a black turtleneck and khaki slacks that still made him the best dressed man on the bridge. If he was trying not to be noticed, he was missing the mark spectacularly. Neal Caffrey simply couldn't underdress no matter where in the world he found himself. Peter felt almost dowdy standing beside him in his own dark slacks and charcoal v-neck sweater. 

"You know, every time you run it generates a metric fuckton of paperwork," Peter said in a low, warm tone. "You should really stop running."

Neal turned, startled. Clearly, the sight of Peter standing right next to him was the last thing he'd expected. He rallied quickly though, putting on the full Caffrey for effect. And even though the smile reached his eyes, they still danced a little warily. "That's okay. I do all your paperwork anyway."

Peter broke out in a huge smile as he drew his old friend in. "God, it's good to see you."

They stood that way for long minutes, clinging to each other as people passed by, unaware of the drama unfolding right in front of them. Eventually, decorum and a pressing need for some sort of explanation forced them apart.

When Peter pulled back, he could almost see the plans spinning in Neal's head. He was calculating just how hard it would be to shake his FBI keeper and get out of the city, headed for parts unknown. Again.

"I won't go back, Peter," Neal blurted out. He frowned. "I can't. Please don't ask me to."

Peter shook his head. "Neal, I didn't come all this way just to lose you to Kramer."

Peter's stomach clenched at the mention of his old mentor and friend. The man had become corrupt in the years since they'd worked together. And while Peter might call him the man who shaped him into the agent he'd become, he couldn't condone what Kramer had tried to do to Neal. He might wish that Neal would willingly walk on the right side of the law, and had tried so many times to teach him that there was a better way, but even he knew you couldn't force someone to become what you wanted them to be.

"What's going on?" Neal asked suspiciously.

His instincts hadn't dulled with time, something Peter was grateful for. It was what made Neal good at what he did. Peter glanced around, aware of the people and the slight nip in the air. November had settled in for the long haul, apparently.

"Let's go get some coffee," he said.

Neal contemplated for a moment, but eventually acquiesced. They strolled along the bridge, back toward the center of town, looking for all the world like two businessmen taking a break from some high-level negotiations. Which, when Peter reflected on it, was probably what they were about to do.

They found a small outdoor café and took a seat at an empty table. Neal ordered coffee for them in perfect Czech, earning a raised eyebrow from Peter.

"When did you learn Czech?"

Neal shrugged. "I have a good ear."

Peter smiled and sipped his coffee. Of course he did. This was the man who could crack a safe with just his ear to the door.

"So, what's going on, Peter?" Neal asked, and this time he could hear the impatience—and a trace of fear—bleeding into his tone.

"What's going on is it's time to come home," Peter said.

"I can't," Neal said again, his voice gone hard. "And you know why I can't. I can't work for Kramer. I'd rather go back to prison."

Peter winced. "I know. Believe me, I know. But it won't come to that. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Peter."

That one stung. Peter had never made a promise to Neal unless he'd known he could come through in the end. It was part of the deal when an agent worked with a criminal informant. You kept your promises. Always. But it was more than that for Peter. Neal was his friend. He didn't _want_ to break any promise he'd made, and so he'd been careful not to make a promise he couldn't keep. Still, he could understand why Neal would be nervous. Kramer had made it clear that he was holding all the cards, and Peter was powerless to stop it. But, that hadn't turned out to be true.

"Kramer's gone," he said.

Neal just sat there and blinked. "What? How?"

"Apparently, his boss wasn't aware of what he was doing. He wasn't pleased. Kramer was forced into early retirement."

"Wow," Neal said, sitting back in his chair. "Wait, when did this happen?"

"About a month after you ran."

Neal closed his eyes, but not before Peter saw the pain flash through them.

"All this time," he said. He opened his eyes, looking at Peter, the hope clear now. "I could have been home all this time?"

Peter's face broke out in a stupid grin at the sound of the word _home_. "Yeah."

Neal leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he rubbed his face with his hands. Peter could see the frustration, the anger, the disappointment rolling off of him. He wasn't surprised. In fact, he'd been expecting it. But just as quickly as the storm rose, it passed, and Neal slumped, defeated.

"Why did it take so long?"

"You're a little too good at what you do," Peter said. "It took me about three months to even figure out what name you were using."

"Sara—"

"Told me about the passport," he said, smiling. "We worked a case together, and when I told her what had happened, she volunteered the information. She misses you, apparently."

Neal smiled, but it was a ghost of his usual grin. "It's nice to know somebody did."

Peter reached across the table, placing a hand on Neal's shoulder. "We all did. Diana and Jones worked long hours tracking your movements. Hughes took to hovering. El asks me for what she calls a 'Neal Update' every night."

"Really?" Neal asked, clearly shocked.

Peter's smile stretched nearly off his face. "Really. We all want you to come home. All of us. But only if you want to."

"If I want—" Neal sat up, dislodging Peter's hand. "What do you mean? Of course I want to!" He froze, then slumped a little. "I don't suppose I'll be able to get my old job back, though. I ran. They'll want to put me back in prison."

"Not exactly," Peter said. At Neal's questioning look, he explained. "You ran; they're not going to just welcome you back. But because of what happened—what Kramer tried to do to you—if you come home willingly, we can add the sentence for this escape to the one you were already serving. You'd have to do another four years in the anklet, but it beats Supermax."

"No 'Three Strikes'?"

"No 'Three Strikes' law on the federal books, Neal," Peter said. He knew Neal knew that, but he also knew his conman friend would still need to hear the words. "Besides, you're a non-violent felon; 'Three Strikes' wouldn't apply. You'd be looking at life if it did."

Neal winced. "Another four years, huh? So five total, if I came back today?"

"Yeah," Peter said.

"I'm surprised they're willing to let me out again," Neal said. He sipped his coffee, frowning at the tepid brew. He flagged down a waiter and ordered fresh cups for both of them. "I mean, this isn't the first time I've run. Not even the second time."

"Don't remind me," Peter said, but he was smiling when he said it. He sobered as he looked at his old friend. "This is your last chance, Neal. If you run again, I won't be able to protect you. You'll go back to prison and serve out whatever sentence they give you."

"I know, Peter," Neal said solemnly. "I know, and I won't run ever again. You have my word."

Peter smiled. "Good."

"I guess that means I'm going home," Neal said.

Peter could see the giddy glee riding just under the surface. His eyes were dancing, and it was like he'd drunk an entire pot of coffee. He suspected that if he could, Neal would take the next flight out.

"What about Mozzie?"

Neal's face fell. It looked like he'd totally forgotten about his friend. Peter knew Mozzie had to be in Prague somewhere. Every flight manifest they'd looked at showed someone named Bob travelling with Neal, and Peter had assumed that such an unoriginal name couldn't possibly be the diminutive con artist.

"Mozzie's enjoying Prague," he said. His head had dropped, his finger tracing the stains on the table.

"I suspect Mozzie would enjoy anywhere, as long as he can find something to occupy himself."

Neal's head popped up. "You have to know—Peter, I haven't—not since I left New York. I swear to you."

"I know, Neal," Peter said. He felt pride swelling his chest. Neal had stayed on the straight and narrow, even without him watching over his shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

Neal blushed even as a full Caffrey grin spread over his face. He sobered up quickly. "I don't know if Moz'll want to come back to New York. He kinda likes it here."

"It's his choice," Peter said, shrugging. "But, if he wants to, it can be arranged."

"If he wants to, he'll make it happen," Neal corrected him.

"Yeah," Peter said. Some things never changed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the contents, handing it over to Neal. "Your choice," he said again.

Neal opened the passport, seeing his own face peering back at him beside the plane ticket to New York. He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes seeking Peter's out.

"Won't this cause problems?"

"No," Peter said, shaking his head. "It's already been taken care of."

"When do we leave?" Neal asked.

Peter smiled. Neal's enthusiasm was a balm to his heart. "Our reservations aren't for a couple of days. I thought I'd take in some sights. Never been to Prague before."

"Well, then," Neal said, rising and throwing a few bills on the table. "Aren't you lucky that you have a friend to show you around?"

Peter stood up. "I am indeed."

He reached out and put his hand on Neal's shoulder, still needing the reassurance of touch to convince himself that he wasn't hallucinating. Neal was really here, really wanting to come home with him. It felt like the sun was coming up after a long night, and if he couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face as Neal showed him around the city, well, he supposed he could be forgiven. He was just too damned happy to care.

~Finis

**Author's Note:**

> More notes on this story can be found [here](http://dizzydrea.livejournal.com/35863.html).


End file.
